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[71]

HOME R's

BATTEL of the FROGS, &c.

BOOK I.

T

O fill my rising Song with facred Fire,

Ye tuneful Nine, ye fweet Celestial Quire! From Helicon's imbow'ring Height repair,

Attend my Labours, and reward my Pray'r.
The dreadful Toils of raging Mars I write,
The Springs of Contest, and the Fields of Fight;

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How threatning Mice advanc'd with warlike Grace,

And wag'd dire Combats with the croaking Race.
Not louder Tumults fhook Olympus' Tow'rs,
When Earth-born Giants dar'd Immortal Pow'rs.
Thefe equal Acts an equal Glory claim,
And thus the Mufe records the Tale of Fame.

Once on a time, fatigu'd and out of Breath, And just escap'd the stretching Claws of Death, A Gentle Moufe, whom Cats purfu'd in vain, Fled fwift-of-foot across the neighb'ring Plain, Hung o'er a Brink, his eager Thirst to cool, And dipt his Whiskers in the standing Pool; When near a courteous Frog advanc'd his Head; And from the Waters, hoarse-refounding faid:

[boaft? What art thou, Stranger? What the Line you What Chance hath caft thee panting on our Coast?

With strictest Truth let all thy Words agree,
Nor let me find a faithless Mouse in thee.
If worthy Friendship, proffered Friendship take,
And ent❜ring view the pleasureable Lake:
Range o'er my Palace, in my Bounty share,
And glad return from hofpitable Fare.
This filver Realm extends beneath my Sway,
And me, their Monarch, all its Frogs obey.
Great Phyfignathus I, from Peleus' Race,
Begot in fair Hydromede's Embrace,

Where by the nuptial Bank that paints his Side,
The swift Eridanus delights to glide.

Thee too, thy Form, thy Strength, and Port pro

claim

A fcepter'd King; a Son of Martial Fame;

Then trace thy Line, and Aid my gueffing Eyes. Thus ceas'd the Frog, and thus the Mouse replies.

4

Known

Known to the Gods, the Men, the Birds that fly Thro' wild Expanses of the midway Sky,

My Name refounds; and if unknown to thee,
The Soul of Great Pfycarpax lives in me.
Of brave Troxartas' Line, whofe fleeky Down
In Love comprefs'd Lychomilè the brown.

My Mother she, and Princess of the Plains
Where-e'er her Father Pternotroctas reigns;
Born where a Cabin lifts its airy Shed,

With Figs, with Nuts, with vary'd Dainties fed.
But fince our Natures nought in common know,
From what Foundation can a Friendship grow?
These curling Waters o'er thy Palace roll;
But Man's high Food supports my Princely Soul.
In vain the circled Loaves attempt to lye
Conceal'd in Flaskets from my curious Eye,

In vain the Tripe that boasts the whitest Hue,

In vain the gilded Bacon fhuns my View,

In vain the Cheeses, Offspring of the Paile,

Or honey'd Cakes, which Gods themselves regale,
And as in Arts I fhine, in Arms I fight,

Mix'd with the braveft, and unknown to Flight.
Tho' large to mine the humane Form appear,
Not Man himself can fmite my Soul with Fear.
Sly to the Bed with filent Steps I go,
Attempt his Finger, or attack his Toe,

And fix indented Wounds with dext'rous Skill;
Sleeping he feels,, and only seems to feel.

Yet have we Foes, which direful Dangers caufe,
Grim Owls with Talons arm'd,and Cats with Claws,
And that falfe Trap, the Den of filent Fate,
Where Death his Ambush plants around the Bait:
All-dreaded thefe, and dreadful o'er the reft
The potent Warriors of the tabby Vest;

If to the dark we fly, the Dark they trace,
And rend our Heroes of the nibbling Race,

But

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